Colonel Hunt, Royal Artillery, the senior prisoner, was consulted. It was known that once moved, chance of release would be uncertain; and the colonel with his brother officers decided to adopt a policy of passive resistance. They parleyed; they argued the impossibility of removal at so short notice. They demanded what mounts were provided. The commandant declared they must walk. This the officers refused to do. Colonels never walked, they said. Cavalry and field officers must be provided with horses to ride. And again in the matter of food—how about that? Thus arguing, the commandant was detained about an hour and a half; but still he declared he had come to do a duty, and do it he must. The policy of passive resistance having run to its extreme limits, the colonels decided to place the commandant under arrest—to detain him in the building and trust to luck. The assistant-commandant, who arrived to “put in his oar,” was promptly “bagged” also. At 2.45 A.M. more wrangling took place. The commandant was reminded that an agreement had been practically entered into with the Transvaal Government that the men at Waterval should be kept quiet on condition that they were not moved, and that the Transvaal Government could not move the prisoners without a breach of faith. The commandant seemed impressed, and offered his word of honour that if released he would telephone to say there could be no removal—and countermand waggons and cancel arrangements. His word of honour was accepted. The commandant retired from the prison, and the officers went to bed fearing the worst.
The remainder of the story is soon told. At 9 A.M. the Duke of Marlborough, accompanied by his irrepressible kinsman, Winston Churchill, galloped to the prison and told the prisoners they were free. The prisoners cheered and shouted themselves hoarse. The guard was disarmed without a murmur, and the prisoners’ servants placed to do duty in their stead, an arrangement which afforded them much merriment and infinite satisfaction. The whole situation was the result of a most successful piece of bluff, and the officers were not a little gratified with the exercise of diplomacy which had brought about delay at a most critical moment. They had been unable, however, to prevent the departure, on the 4th, of some 1000 prisoners, which removal was a distinct breach of faith, considering the negotiations before alluded to.
An officer related his experiences on the momentous 4th and 5th of June:—
“On Monday morning, 9 A.M., guns were heard quite close. We knew the Boers, 15,000 strong, had taken up a position about six miles out, and it was said they had solemnly sworn to die or win. About 10 A.M. we saw a shell burst over the hill to the south close to one of the forts. Then shrapnel after shrapnel was landed just over the fort and all along the crest line, about four miles away from us. Then some larger gun placed a lyddite close to the big fort, sending up an enormous column of red dust and making a huge report. It was a grand sight. It went on all day, and we sat there in deck chairs watching. We could see very few Boers about. About 3 P.M. we saw the balloon, about fifteen miles off, I should think. Later in the afternoon the railway was shelled near the suburbs, and just before dark, away to the west, we saw clouds of dust and what we took to be fleeing commandos. After such a day we all went to bed in excellent spirits. Our long depressing wait was very near its end, and we should now escape the terrible prospect of being moved away to the east. About 1 A.M. we were wakened up by the commandant, who turned on the electric light and walked along the line of beds, saying, ‘Pack up, gentlemen, you have got to start at 3 P.M. and march six miles.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I don’t know why; those are my orders.’ ‘Which direction?’ ‘To the railway, to the east.’ Well, I knew what that meant at once, for I had expected the move for the last month, and many a very depressed hour had I spent thinking of the possibility of being carted about for six months in the cold—no food—no news—and every chance of being shot down. I lay in bed thinking what I should do—what we ought all to do. Some got up at once and dressed, quite ready to move, saying they were only going to move us out of range of the firing. But Colonel H—— luckily was not of that opinion, and nearly every one felt what it meant. We knew nothing for certain, but we thought our people were only six miles off. Outside the Hollanders’ guard had been trebled—about 200—and there were about twenty armed and mounted Boers. It was soon agreed that no one should move unless a rifle was pointed at his head. The Hollanders are only half-hearted, and the Boers don’t act without leaders. So the commandant and sub-commandant, who were alone inside, and only armed with revolvers, were made prisoners. They were told we refused to move; that they would have to shoot; and that, if they did shoot, every one of them would be hung by Bobs, who, we knew, was only seven miles off. Well, the commandant was talked round and fairly bluffed. He undertook not to move us, and to become a prisoner of the Boers if they insisted. He went out and had a talk with the Boer commandant; they had words, and the Boers galloped off to the town, calling him a —— Hollander, and saying they would have to get a Maxim. We had delayed the thing anyway for a time, and the railway might be cut any time by French. It was frightfully cold; I did not turn in again. Many went and hid in the roof, in ditches, and all sorts of places, where they were bound to be found. I got a bread-knife and cut a hole in the rabbit wire, which is only a small part of the obstacle, and asked the Hollander sentry to look the other way if I tried to get out when the commander came. But there were so many of them that one was afraid of the other. He only hesitated, and said he would see. We waited on till daylight and no one came. We looked anxiously at the hills all round in hopes of seeing our troops on the hills, but could see nothing. We waited and watched anxiously, and thought we should have a day of suspense. About 8 A.M. on Tuesday, 5th June, large bodies of men were visible to the west, about seven miles off, but it was impossible to say whether they were our men or Boers. Even if they were our men, it was possible that we should be hustled off under their noses. About 9 A.M. two men in felt hats and kharki and a civilian galloped up. Even till they were 100 feet off I feared they might be Boers. Then they took off their hats and waved them; there was a yell, and we all rushed through the gate. They were Marlborough and Winston Churchill, and we were free!”
Some of the late prisoners rushed out of the enclosure down hill into the town, scampering and yelling. It was so good to be free! It was so grand to feel that the scene of their incarceration had already almost become British soil! One climbed up the flagstaff with the Union Jack in his mouth and fastened it at the top (the great emblem, manufactured from a Transvaal flag, had been held in readiness for many months). There, in the town, were British sentries over all the Government buildings, over the house of the President—where Mrs. Kruger still remained—and over all the banks, and in the square. But the smart guardsman of Pall Mall was nowadays strangely transmogrified. Battered and travel-stained in his shabby kharki and worn helmet—the latter perhaps adorned, in lieu of plume, with tooth-brush, spoon, or other useful article—and equipped with loaf or cook-pot, or like practical paraphernalia not laid down in the regulations, he made a quaint, yet inspiriting picture of martial vagabondage. But to the eyes of his long-expecting fellow-countrymen he was none the less refreshing, almost adorable, and in a perfect frenzy of rejoicing the prisoners laughed and threw up their hats and waved their arms like very lunatics freed from strait-waistcoats, or the thrall of the padded room.
The chief was not timed to arrive till two, but long before that hour the prisoners of war were drawn up in the square to feast their eyes with a sight for which they had hungered wearily, some of them since the grievous autumn days when they had found themselves in Dundee hospital at the mercy of the Boers. And sure enough the spectacle that then followed was worth waiting a lifetime to see, and one which none who witnessed it will ever forget.
To return, however, to Johannesburg, and to those who, during this time of terrific suspense, were marching as fast as legs would carry them to take possession of the Boer capital.
FROM JOHANNESBURG TO PRETORIA
June had opened more than propitiously. It found Lord Roberts with the British flag hoisted in Johannesburg, and within appreciable distance of seizing the capital, while in the southern portion of the Free State, rebellion was known to be nearing its conclusion. General Brabant—after some exciting experiences at Hammonia, in which Lieutenant Langmore (Border Horse) was severely wounded, and Lieutenants Boyes and Budler were made prisoners—had just joined hands with General Rundle. The former was engaged in watching the passes around the Basuto border, while the latter, with his usual vigilance and animation, mounted guard over the region between Ficksburg and Senekal. Here (at Senekal) General Clements caught up the chain and made his Brigade into a connecting link with the forces of Lord Methuen, which were at Lindley, forty miles to the north, which latter place was within communicable distance of Heilbron, where General Sir H. Colvile with the Highland Brigade kept clear the passage to the north. Thus it will be seen a complete cordon of communications was maintained, which formed a barrier to further inroads by the Free Staters, and forced them little by little to take their choice between surrender or flight.
At the same time a change had been wrought in the condition of affairs, and the Orange Free State had been rechristened the Orange River Colony.